


Intermission

by CloudAtlas



Series: All Hallows Eve 2015, Be_Compromised Style [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Musicians, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 06:10:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5279765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudAtlas/pseuds/CloudAtlas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>For some reason, when he’d invited her to their gig, she hadn’t considered that he might mean </i>this<i>; standing backstage, in the wings, watching the band play from the side.</i></p>
<p> </p>
<p>A small follow up to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4654200">We Together Make A City</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intermission

**Author's Note:**

  * For [geckoholic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/gifts).



For some reason, when he’d invited her to their gig, she hadn’t considered that he might mean  _this_ ; standing backstage, in the wings, watching the band play from the side.

When she’d arrived, Natasha had given her name at the stage door as instructed and been ushered inside by a man with military baring and skin as dark as hers is light. She’s been instructed where to stand and what not to touch and where not to go as if she’d never been behind the stage in a concert venue before. She hadn’t seen Clint.

But now –

The stage lights are such that she can see the first few rows of fans, jumping and swaying to the music that builds and builds without deigning to conform to any one genre. But they seem flicker in and out, and more clearly she can see the tendrils of hair that stick to Kate Bishop’s face, the tour drummer’s glistening skin, the sweat bead at Clint’s hairline, and how they all move under the lights as if possessed.

It’s almost strange, she thinks vaguely, how familiar this is.

But the thought drifts away because, despite the lights and despite the drummer’s slick skin and Kate Bishop’s jubilant face and the strange familiarity, Natasha is constantly drawn back to the way Clint’s fingers move over the frets of his bass.

Natasha remembers how those fingers felt on _her_. It shouldn’t be as utterly distracting as it is.

When Hawkeyes come off stage before the encore, the drummer gives her a curious look as Clint steps up into her space, thrumming with energy and so full of music it radiates out like heat. His eyes bore into hers as though he’s trying to dive into their blue. As if he could navigate by them, orientate himself as if by the stars. Get lost and unlost at the same time. It takes Natasha's breath away.

“No fucking, Barton. We’re back on in five,” Kate Bishop says casually as she passes them, and Clint flips her the bird without shifting his gaze from Natasha's face.

Idly, Natasha wonders if anyone in the front row can see them or if the relentless energy of Clint coming off stage has pushed them far enough back that the velvet curtain hides them from view, but she isn’t bothered enough to find out though.

“Can I see?” he says eventually, voice hoarse from singing and something else.

She doesn’t have to ask what he means.

Natasha holds his gaze a moment longer before turning her head and lifting her hair away to reveal five stars tattooed on the back of her neck, skin still an angry red, resenting the fact that only six hours before it was smooth and unblemished.

Clint sucks in a breath, rendered speechless again by the sight of her skin. She feels like she’s being pulled towards him, tide-like, and she sways imperceptibly so her shoulder lightly brushes his chest.

“Fuck,” he says, hard and disbelieving. His fingers find the edge of the tattoo, almost scalding in their gentleness, and it’s as though she’s been filled up, music and energy transferred through the barest touch of his hand.

She turns without saying anything – and how much of their time together has existed in these charged silences? – her nose almost brushing his, his eyes likes beacons in the dark, drawing her forward, and she can smell the sweat on his skin, feel the heat of his hand in her bones, sense the energy and music thrumming though his whole body and she leans in, his breath ghosting over her lips and –

And Kate’s hand clamps down on Clint’s shoulder, and she snaps, “Barton, it’s time,” and drags him back out under the lights.


End file.
